Old habits die hard
Here's some classic Mac Sirloin brand hateful bile. This is a letter to my sister, who invited me to Hamilton and then screamed me out of her home earlier today when I told her daughter (my niece) I was going to be moving out at the end of the week. For the sake of fairness I'd like to say I'd instigated this more somehow, but I surprisingly didn't. My sister is just as batshit insane as I am, except worse.
And to nip this in the bud, no, I didn't actually send this to her, but I need to get this out of my head. For context, I took a late-night bus to Toronto and will be catching the Train at 5AM. Right now I'm hunching over my phone at a coffee shop slurping something that tastes like sumatran battery acid piss. I'm all fucked up on some extra Rit I took at the Bus Station, the aforementioned 'coffee' and cigarettes, because I'm stupid goddamnit.
Hey Sis, caught the bus to TO on time and I'm safe and sound. I'd like to say a few things. Firstly, thank you for having me stay and by extension thank you for the good times we had. Living there was a really eye opening experience for me, especially as to what I need as far as living independently goes. You gave me some solid advice on fiscal responsibility, how to grocery shop and enjoy it, why I need to find a girl who likes a guy who cooks for her and what I need to not do to end up as miserable and confused as you.
I hope My Niece does well in High School this year, she certainly seems to have started her week better than I did, despite your ceaseless rudeness, verbal abuse and once again the air of general misery that has followed you around since you returned from your vacation in Guyana.
Speaking of which, You're welcome for watching the house while you and your braindead husband dry-humped like good Christians in the great bauxite fields of Guyana, supping on maggoty chicken and weaselly soup.
On the other hand, sorry the floor wasn't swept when you got back, I guess I really dropped the fucking ball there and ruined everything for you and your possible Haitian Zombie of a spouse.
On the third hand, produced nerveless and twitching through exposure to raw bauxite ore and bananas, thanks for giving neither I nor your Anxiety-riddled OCD daughter any clue as to when you would land.
As far as the last few (miserable) weeks go, I have literally thousands of combinations of words saved up to describe your behaviour, most involving incontinent rabid howler monkeys pooping in your mouth, but instead I'll just summarize.
Your dependence on Naturopathy and the benefits you espouse therein: My ENTIRE ass.
Nobody gives a passionate shit about breastfeeding except for overcompensating middle aged broads like you. Yeah it's better than formula or something. You know what else involves formula? Racecars. Vrooooom!
Your husband is a drug addled braindead fuckwad lapdog and I don't like the music he listens to.
Jesus isn't going to descend from the heavens and fix the world you goddamn impotent tool. Jesus probably thinks you're an annoying pious dork who should chill out. As a matter of fact, Jesus has more pressing issues. Like being dead.
Pretty much every inept statement about Obama being the son of Satan or an egyptian clone of Xerxes Humperdink has earned you a cosmic slap in the ear. Further, each statement was stupider than the last and since you repeat these dumbass theories you've created an disinformational vortex of dumb that will eventually consume your brain.
The pope is an evil fuck, but not for the magical reasons you come up with.
Removing Your ridiculous filth encrusted white-trash dreadlocks is the key to making your neck less sore, not drinking fucking Chlorophyll. That's right, chlorophyll, plant poop/puke/piss/blood.
On that subject, you wouldn't have breathing problems if you stopped smoking, but aren't I a goddamn asshole for making that suggestion.
Marking all of my food with BEWARE was not a personal attack, using your laptop was not a personal attack, posting 'Oooh me so hungry' on facebook was not a personal attack.
Your hair's stupid, your eyebrows stupider, your giant sunglasses stupidest.
Satan is Real Again is a great album, not a current event.
Don't snort coke with your 14 year old daughter around you impossible idiot.
If you hate your job so much get a real one. Acting as a 'birthing consultant' 18 hours a week justifies none of your behaviour.
In conclusion, you're a putrid fucking cunt and I genuinely hope never to see or hear from you again unless it's crying your eyes out over your daughter realizing what a complete fuckwad you are.
Suck out my farts.
Simon
Battery's dying. These pygmy bastards better have a public outlet I can hover beside.
